


Building A Home

by CoffeeQuill



Series: Our Roots [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Trauma, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Mentions of genocide, Military Background, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Social Workers, Temper Tantrums
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/pseuds/CoffeeQuill
Summary: “Look. Karga warned us about this. The worker is here to talk. Meet you, meet Caleb, check out the house," Cara says. "It’s a step, not a jump. This isn’t the big yes or no about adopting him, just the green light to keep moving forward.”“What if the light isn’t green?” Din whispers.“It’ll be green. But even if it isn’t, then it’ll be a yellow, and we just fix whatever we have to until it is green. Okay?”------Din meets with a social worker about adopting the kid, and the process promises to be anything but simple.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Our Roots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754920
Comments: 51
Kudos: 141





	1. Natural Proclivity

**Author's Note:**

> The [Discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

Cara doesn’t mind having Din and Caleb at her house -- the duo is delightful, either a needed fresher from the daily activities of the Hunters Guild, or an equally needed comic relief. Din is a  _ reasonable, competent  _ adult to talk to, with a past of service like her albeit it for different causes, and he isn’t driven by money like the rest of the bounty fuckers.

And Caleb -- sweet, adorable,  _ hilarious  _ Caleb -- is the cherry on top.

Especially when Din knocks on Cara’s bedroom door, easing it open with a look of trepidation and  _ embarrassment  _ on his face, cap gone and hair a wreck.

Cara stares at him, then sits up, Guild reports in her lap. “What’s up?”

Din pauses, hand gripping the doorknob, then shifts his weight and lets out a breath like a schoolboy being forced to confess. “I gave him a bath,” he mumbles.

Cara makes a face, shifting the computer off her lap as her concern grows. “You used the baby shampoo, right?” she asks. “Or is he blind now?”

“I used the baby shampoo,” Din snaps, but he’s still  _ shifty. _

She eyes him. “So… what’s the problem?”

Din sighs. “I can’t get him to put pants on.”

On cue, Caleb toddles into the room. His walk is still shaky, but he’s gotten the hang of it, quick to throw a hand against Cara’s dresser for balance. He’s got a sippy cup in the other hand, half-full of juice. He turns and stares up at Cara, smiling, his hair still wet. And he’s only wearing a green dino shirt with a diaper.

Cara holds back her snort. “He won’t…”

“He screams at me when I try.”

“So that’s what I was hearing.” She’s grinning.

“He loves you,” Din says, his voice full of desperation. “Can you get him to do it? Please?”

Cara laughs, then gets up. The expression of exhausted relief on Din’s face, the happy smile on Caleb’s, the clear refusal of the pants -- god, she’s glad they came, just for this moment alone.

“Caleb!” she calls, and the toddler looks up at her with a big smile. “Where are your pants, Bean?”

He giggles before he sips his juice.

“C’mon, let’s get you dressed,” and he lifts his arms to be scooped up onto her hip. She walks past Din and down into their current bedroom. It’s an absolute mess of their suitcases and clothes, but the offending pair of soft blue pants is left on the bed. Din stands in the doorway to watch.

“Cawe,” Caleb mumbles, shoving his head against her side.

“Alright. Time for pants, kiddo.” She lifts him off and down onto the bed, on his back, and his feet kick about for a few seconds. He continues to drink his juice, nearly ignoring her, and she grabs the pair of pants to pull on him.

The fabric slides over his legs for barely a second before he  _ screams. _

The baby screams as though he’s been burned, and Cara pulls back almost as though she  _ had  _ burned him. Without the pants touching him, he screams for a few seconds longer before quieting down, staring at the ceiling before he sticks the sippy cup back against his mouth.

“Okay, then,” Cara says.

“Yeah,” Din says.

Cara eyes the kid, then bunches up the pants and starts to work them over his legs. But there’s no use to it, as the kid kicks out and screams again. “NO!” he wails, bursting into sobs. “NO! No no no no NO!”

“Caleb, sweetheart--”

“No! Cawe no, no, Cawe  _ no.” _

His kicks are surprisingly strong and Cara leans back with a sigh. “Okay,” she says. “He’s decided on no pants.”

Din sighs. “He’s being ridiculous.”

“Oh, he’s being a  _ baby.  _ Literally.”

“Karga said the adoption lawy -- person? They’re coming in an  _ hour.  _ He needs to have  _ pants  _ on.”

“Din, breathe.” Caleb is grabbing at his foot, bent inwards as he simply drinks the juice. Cara watches, then glances towards Din. “... Focus on yourself for a second. You look like a disaster.”

Din stares at her, then glances in the dresser mirror before making a face. “Shit.”

“Shit!” Caleb squeaks.

_ “No,”  _ Din says.

The baby giggles.

“Go take a shower,” Cara says. “Get yourself together. I can handle him for a bit, try to get these pants on. And clean your stuff up.”

Din looks like a deer in the headlights, but he nods and disappears into the hall. Cara turns and looks at Caleb, who’s watching her with calm now as he drinks the last of his juice. He lets the cup drop and giggles again before kicking his feet.

“Troublemaker,” Cara growls before she grins and picks him up.

“Wheee!” the kid shrieks, laughing.

As Din disappears into the bathroom, Cara walks into the hallway with Caleb on her hip, then down the stairs. They’re alone in this part of the house, and she walks them to the kitchen. “Hungry, Bean?” she asks, stepping in front of the fridge. She opens the door. “There’s some fruit here -- strawberries?”

“Shraburby!” Caleb coos, reaching a hand towards the fridge.

“Strawberries it is.”

Cara pulls out the container of strawberries, lays down a paper towel, and sets the baby to sit on the counter. “Stay there, bud,” she says in a firm voice before grabbing a knife. She starts to cut the strawberries into small pieces, and the baby watches. “Okay. You gonna be good for Daddy when the social worker comes?”

He coos at her.

“Yeah, of course you are. You’re even going to put  _ pants  _ on. Right?”

Caleb reaches for a piece of strawberry. “Mmmm.”

“Priorities,” she sighs.

When the strawberries are cut, the baby gets to happily eating each piece, mouth becoming messy as he mouths at the fruit and eventually eats them. Cara bites into a whole one, and when Caleb stares at her, she gives him a smile. He grins, mouth ringed with pink.

She certainly does  _ not  _ do the baby thing. She’s never once desired to have a child of her own, knowing from early on that it simply wasn’t something she was interested in. But the  _ aunt  _ thing… that’s different. Because Caleb is adorable, hilarious, and best of all, able to be given back to his dad whenever he’s too much.

“But  _ really,  _ kid.” As Caleb finishes off the strawberries, Cara grabs a paper towel and wets it under the sink. He looks up at her as she comes over and starts to wipe at his mouth, clearing away the strawberry residue. “You need to put your pants on. The diaper-dino combo here is cute, but it’s not the latest trend. Y’know?”

Caleb lets his mouth be cleaned, but then ignores her and instead turns to look towards the stairs. “Dada,” he mumbles beneath his breath, sticking two fingers into his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Daddy’s in the--”

There’s a  _ ping  _ from her phone and Cara looks down, grabbing her phone from her pocket. Security images pop up from the trail leading to the house, a mile out, of a black SUV with Cali plates. Caleb looks over, then crawls to the phone, reaching for it. Cara slips it back into her pocket first and scoops him up. “Look like your social worker is here,” she says, and he coos at her. “Hope your dad is ready.”

“Dada!”

“Yep.”

Cara hurries up the stairs. The bathroom door is open, steam airing out, so Din’s at least done. “Din?” she calls. “Karga and the guy are nearly here.”

“Just cleaning up.”

She turns and steps into the room. Din is showered, shaved and dressed in a polo shirt and dark jeans, hair roughly towel dried and he’s shoving their clothes properly into the dresser. The room has been cleaned up surprisingly fast, suitcases disappearing into the closet and everything neatened up.

“Dada!” Caleb giggles.

Din looks over and smiles. “Hey,  _ cyar’ika,”  _ he says before he walks over and takes him. Caleb settles onto his hip, snuggling against him, and Din presses a kiss to his hair but looks at Cara with a look of certain panic.

“Does this look fine?” he asks, looking down at himself. “I can… I have long sleeves, I can cover up the tattoos if that might--”

“I don’t think they’ll say no because you have tattoos,” Cara says, leaning against the doorway. “You look fine.”

“If they knew what some of these  _ mean,  _ if they…”

“The guy won’t be able to see your serial number, much less know what it means,  _ much  _ less how to even read it. Let’s not worry about your militia service until later, okay?”

“Okay.” Din swallows, but the panic isn’t even slightly abated, his attention instead turning to Caleb. “He can’t -- if he won’t… does  _ that  _ matter? That he won’t wear pants? If it’s a bad first impression, or… or if it makes me look unfit…”

_ “Din.”  _ Cara sighs. “You  _ seriously  _ need to breathe. This is just an interview, okay? The guy isn’t going to care that the  _ baby  _ is doing a  _ baby thing.  _ Caleb deciding he doesn’t want to wear pants doesn’t mean you’re depriving him of clothing.”

Din stares at her.

“Look. Karga warned us about this. The worker is here to talk. Meet you, meet Caleb, check out the house. It’s a  _ step,  _ not a jump. This isn’t the big  _ yes  _ or  _ no  _ about adopting him, just the green light to keep moving forward.”

“What if the light isn’t green?” Din whispers.

“It’ll be green. But even if it isn’t, then it’ll be a yellow, and we just fix whatever we have to until it  _ is  _ green. Okay?”

Din swallows. He adjusts Caleb, who’s looking sleepy, and nods. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” Cara says, nodding back.

The doorbell rings.

“Fuck,” Din whispers, barely audible, as Cara goes to answer.

His nerves are shaky as he pushes a pacifier into Caleb’s mouth, as he follows Cara down the hall to the stairs. Through the glass of the door, he can see Karga waiting, a man in a suit behind him. Din runs a hand through his hair to smooth it back, his heart pounding in his chest.

Cara opens the door with an easy greeting, and Din forces on the smile.

The suited man with him is introduced as Adam Wright, a federal agent working in the New Republic’s department for child welfare. He’s in his thirties, around Din’s age, with an unamused expression. He regards the foyer of the house with skepticism before glancing at Din and Caleb.

“This is the child?” he says, and his voice is softer than Din anticipated.

“This is Caleb,” Din says.

“And you are…”

“Din Djarin.”

Wright eyes him with scrutiny, gaze sweeping over him,  _ certainly  _ noticing the tattoos -- what’s visible, like the roses of his forearm, what peeks out from his sleeves like his Mando’a sayings. It’s hidden, but the small patch of written Mando’a beneath his arm seems to burn through him. For a brief moment, he wonders if it would be enough to shut this all down before it can start.

“Mr. Karga has told me much,” Wright says.

Din feels his chest tighten. “He’s… told you,” he says, eyes drifting to Karga, who looks completely unbothered. Caleb lets out a mumble, snuggling further into Din.

“Let’s talk,” Wright says with a smile.

They sit in the living room, glasses of lemonade poured, all in a circle. Caleb drinks his own lemonade from his sippy cup, lying back against Din’s chest with wandering eyes.

“I was told a few things.”

Din looks at Wright, an arm wrapped around Caleb. His glass goes untouched. “What things?”

“Vague details,” Wright says, almost an attempt at being assuring. “That you were one of his hunters.”

“I’m licensed through the Guild,” Din says, a little too quick.

“I’m sure.” Wright looks down at a notepad in his hands. “That you found  _ Caleb  _ during a hunt when you thought you were bringing in an adult male. That Caleb was being pursued by a crime boss as a potential loose end to previous transgressions that had been committed. You broke the deal to take him back and disappeared with the child in order to protect him.”

It’s… a good gloss over. A shinier version of how things had really gone down, ignoring Caleb’s abilities, painting Gideon in a… more flattering, less concerning light than a war criminal who escaped execution and rallied his men in secret.

Din is quiet.

“That you have had custody of the child for six months. No birth parents are known to exist and Caleb’s situation upon being found suggests… they may not be alive to be contacted. He addresses you as his father, the one pursuing him is confirmed dead, and you wish to officially adopt him.” Wright looks up from the pad. “That’s roughly what I’m working with.”

_ Confirmed dead.  _ Caleb starts to squirm out of Din’s lap, and he mulls over the words as he lowers the child to the floor. He starts to toddle towards several of his stuffed animal toys, spread out and forgotten on the floor.  _ There was no body. _

_ There has to be a body. _

Din looks up. “I want him to be mine, yes.”

Wright makes a hum and slips out a folder that’s been tucked beneath the pad, opening it to take out a piece of paper. His eyes are following Caleb as he sets the paper on top and a pen appears in his hand. “Before we get into things, Mr. Djarin, I want to make one thing  _ clear.” _

Din takes a breath.

“I’m willing to do this process… in an  _ unorthodox  _ fashion. To push this process through where other families have to wait. As a favor to Mr. Karga.” Wright looks at him, his gaze hard. “But the process may be long, anyway. And there are things I will  _ not  _ compromise on. My concern is to be an advocate for this child as an orphan needing a stable, loving home. I will  _ not  _ push to place a child with a parent who isn’t fit.”

He swallows.

“I will help you get this done faster. I will assist in getting Caleb the paperwork he needs. Whatever is possible for this to become legal and for the child to be acknowledged as your son.” His gaze flicks towards Caleb again before back to Din. “But my assessment of the history thus far is that this child has been neglected. Finding a seven-month-old alone, covered in filth is a massive red flag that there are  _ problems.” _

_ “I  _ haven’t neglected him,” Din says. “He’s been--”

“I’m not accusing you. I’m accusing whoever had custody of this child before.  _ Whoever  _ that might have been. What I’m saying is that he’s a special case. There are  _ concerns  _ about how that may have impacted his development, even if it isn’t apparent yet. What may have impacted him when he was in your custody, possibly witnessing the things you had to do to protect him. There are things he might need. Things you might not be able to provide him.”

Din stares at him. He thinks of all the times the baby had screamed at the sound of gunfire, the shaking and tears afterwards, hating the hours they’d spent driving when he wanted to crawl, when he’d held out a hand and Cara started to choke--

He glances towards Cara, and their eyes meet.  _ How much did I fuck him up?  _ he thinks.

Caleb toddles back over, a block in each hand. “Dada!” he calls. He falls against Din’s shins, cheek pressed into Din’s knee. “Dada,  _ look.” _

“Yeah, I see them,” Din says in a breathy voice. Caleb lifts his arms and Din picks him up, setting him in his lap.

Wright’s gaze is intense. “What I’m just trying to be clear about, Mr. Djarin, is that my opinion and assessment of this will be  _ honest.  _ Caleb’s best interests are what I’m concerned about, not your attachment to him. If I believe you’re a suitable parent, I will have no problem pushing this adoption through. But if it’s clear Caleb can thrive better elsewhere--” Wright tilts his head to the side. “It will be  _ him  _ I choose to help.”

Din holds his gaze, even as his heart pounds in his chest. “Dada,” Caleb whimpers, leaning forward into Din’s front, holding the blocks up. “Dada,  _ loooook--” _

“I see, I see the blocks,” Din says, and Caleb is pouting before his foot plants against Din’s abs, trying to push up onto his shoulder. Din gives him a boost up, a hand holding him as he half-hangs over Din’s shoulder. Then he looks at Wright, letting out a breath.

“He’s my concern, too,” he says. “I think… he  _ is  _ best with me. But we’re on the same page.” Caleb lets out a mumble as he pushes his head against Din’s neck, cuddling against him.

Wright watches them for a moment, then nods and clicks his pen, looking down to the paper in front of him. “I was able to get a basic background check on you, Mr. Djarin,” he says. “But to the New Republic, you’re a ghost of a man. That leaves me with  _ many  _ questions.”

“Ask away,” he says, voice kept tight.

“Where were you born?”

“Trichar.” He rubs Caleb’s back. “Island off the Mandalorian coast.”

“But you  _ are  _ Mandalorian.”

“My home was attacked,” Din says. “Mandalorian soldiers saved us. One adopted me after my parents were killed.”

“So you have a proclivity for adoption,” Wright says.

Din frowns. “It’s a… culture thing,” he says.

Wright nods and scribbles something down. Din bites his lip. “You were raised in Mandalore. Fully immersed in the culture.”

Din nods.

“You participated in the Mandalorian War?”

In an instant, he tenses. Cara shifts in her seat, frowning, and she sits up. “That’s--”

“Is that what you all call it?” Din asks, an edge in his voice. “Our name for it is less.  _ Forgiving.” _

Wright looks at him, then leans back. “Oh?”

“The Great Purge.” His jaw is tight as Caleb squirms to become more comfortable. “That’s what it  _ was.  _ It wasn’t war. It was genocide.”

“The media didn’t report a genocide.”

“Because everyone in the media was deported or put up against a wall.”

Wright looks at him a moment, then scribbles down more notes. “I presume you fought.”

“I did,” Din says.

“For the Mandalorians.”

“For my home.” Din looks at him. “The same reason the Rebel Alliance fought. To get rid of the Empire. You won and we lost, the same exact fight. Only we got nightmares instead of medals.”

Wright watches him for a moment. Then he clicks the pen and leans forward. “Mr. Djarin, have you been screened for post traumatic stress?”

Din frowns, taken aback. “... No. I’ve been fine.”

Wright mirrors his frown, then scribbles down some more. “I’d like a professional to make that judgment,” he says. “I won’t press you for details about your experience during that event, I’ll leave that to a psychologist.”

Din stares at him. “A psychol--”

“I need these  _ assurances,  _ Mr. Djarin. That you are mentally sound and properly coping with the destruction of your culture, not possibly going to extend that trauma to Caleb.” He looks at Din. “This is going to take trust between us. Your trust in me that the measures I ask for are necessary. My trust in you that you aren’t going to lie, cheat or manipulate in order to get legal rights to this child. If we have that trust, this can go a lot smoother for both of us.”

Din takes a deep breath. Caleb is asleep at his shoulder, past due for naptime. Din draws circles on his back, breathing in his scent, the mixture of baby powder and detergent. 

“Okay,” he says.

“Good.” Wright leans forward, his expression softening. “Now, tell me about Caleb.”

Din opens his mouth, and the words just fall out.


	2. Out of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the conversation with Wright, and Din reluctantly progresses forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note: descriptions, though brief, of fascist government brutality. 
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

“Bye bye!” Caleb yells to the SUV as it drives away. They stand on the front porch of the house, watching the car disappear down the road, taking Karga and Wright with it. The baby waves his hand enthusiastically, and Din just holds him, dark feelings mixed in his chest. As the car goes out of sight, he turns them back into the house, hit with the cool air inside.

“Din--” Cara starts, standing beside the stairs.

“Don’t,” Din says, heading for the living room. He sits down on the floor amongst a scattering of toys, Caleb in his lap, and grabs a ring toy. But Caleb shakes his head and goes for the forgotten pacifier on the ground, leaning against Din’s arm, and Din pulls him back. “No, it’s dirty--”

_ “Din.”  _ Cara comes beside them, one arm crossed over her stomach while the other holds up the papers. “You can’t ignore this.”

“I can for right now,” he mutters.

“Ignoring it now turns into ignoring it later.” She crouches down beside them and Din doesn’t look at her, trying to keep Caleb in his lap. The toddler whimpers and squirms to escape.  _ “Din.  _ This isn’t a bad thing. This could be much better than you want to think it is.”

“Better?” he snaps. He lets Caleb crawl out of his lap, looking up at Cara. “I have to do therapy to keep my  _ kid.  _ I have to go talk to someone who will already have a bias against my people, I have to explain my experiences to someone who will think I’m a  _ terrorist.  _ What good comes out of this?”

“You getting to keep Caleb,” Cara says. Her voice is firm but she doesn’t rise to his anger. “Him being your son under the law. Wright is helping you -- he wrote himself, you and Caleb have an obviously great relationship. Go see a therapist, and if she’s reasonable, you can get help.”

“Help for wha--”

“I hear your nightmares, Din, don’t try it.” Her gaze is stern. “If she turns out to be good, you can learn to manage things so you  _ don’t  _ accidentally hurt Caleb like he said. And if she’s shit, then you can just force the smile and say whatever they want to get you cleared.”

Din scowls.

“It’s for  _ Caleb.”  _ She crouches down beside him. “No, she probably won’t understand what really happened in Mandalore. But Caleb is  _ your baby  _ and whatever the hell makes the New Republic recognize that.”

Din looks at her, then at Caleb. The baby toddles back to him with a train car in hand and pacifier in his mouth. “Dada,” he mumbles around it, holding out the car. Din takes it. He turns around and starts looking for another toy, and Din glances at Cara.

“Alright,” he mutters.

Caleb is developing at the speed of light, Din thinks. Just a few weeks ago when they came here, walking was a brand new skill. Now, he’s determined to climb the stairs.

It’s stressful, but also keeps his mind off things. Din sits on the stairs beside him, a hand ready to catch the boy if he tumbles. But the stairs have a rug laid down in the center, covering some of the marble, and any slipping will likely be a bruise and some rug burn rather than a cracked skull. “No!” Caleb will shout at him if Din tries to lift him. Hand holding to walk up isn’t allowed, either. “Dada, no!”

“Okay.”

But the stair climbing still isn’t that fast. Caleb will manage the first few steps. A few more, maybe. But he’ll stop in the center of the first flight, then freeze up. “Dada!” he’ll wail, beginning to cry. “Up! Up!” Din scoops up him to go the rest of the way.

Going back down, even backwards on his belly, is  _ not  _ an entertained idea. Neither is walking down with his hand held. Instead he’ll sit at the top and cry until Cara or Din carry him down.

“It’s a  _ trap,”  _ Cara says.

Din looks over from the kitchen table. “What’s a trap?”

Cara stands in the doorway. Caleb sits in her arms, face buried against her neck, head tucked beneath her chin. “He wanted to come down the stairs,” she says. “Now he won’t let go.”

She tries. She moves to pry him off, but Caleb lets out a distressed whine and pulls on her shirt. Cara sighs and Din holds back a laugh. “Welcome to my world,” he says.

Life is… good. By every measure, it should be. His kid is happy, healthy, safe. They’re living in a nice house with Cara, and their financial situation is stable. They’ve begun the road to an official adoption, and as Cara insists, it will go well.

But the thought of therapy hangs over his head. The thought of opening himself to a stranger, to even be allowed to keep  _ his  _ child, is -- it keeps his stomach in a constant lock, steeled against any comfort. Even Caleb notices.

“Dada?”

“Yes?”

“Sad?”

Din frowns. They lie on the couch now; a Disney movie plays on the TV at a low volume while the baby is spread out on his chest, fingers in his mouth and a blanket draped over them. He looks up at Din now.

“I’m not sad,” he says.

Caleb frowns, still sucking his fingers, then pushes up and turns over, twisted like a cat as he pulls the blanket up. “Sad,” he repeats. “Dada’s… sad.” He reaches up to Din’s face, fingers brushing his cheek.

Din just takes his hand.

“Dada?”

“I’m fine.”

Caleb stares at him, and for a moment Din tries to imagine life without him. Without the restless nights, the crying, the soothing. The baby clothes, pacifiers, toys. The relentless questions about everything that Din can never answer to satisfaction. The milestones that show he’s growing.

_ What’s your endgame?  _ Omera had asked him once.  _ How do you see this ending? _

_ Him with a family,  _ Din had answered. And himself moving on.

But now, the thought of losing this child makes him want to burn the world down until it rains ashes around their little clan.

Caleb snuggles closer, tucking his head beneath Din’s chin. Din reaches up to stroke his back. “Okay, Dada,” he mumbles around his fingers. “Oh… okay.”

“They’re not taking you,” he says quietly. Caleb mumbles into his shirt. “Never.”

He’s run across the country once with him while being chased. It’s not like it would be new. But he thinks of putting Cara through that -- they’ve involved the government now, and there would be questioning. Demands to know where they had went. Adding on kidnapping to his record, even when he’d done nothing but protect his child.

He takes a deep breath, tries to let his mind settle, feels Caleb’s heartbeat against his own.

Then quiet time becomes play time, and Caleb is demanding they go swim. So Din’s thoughts turn from fleeing across the country to finding a clean pair of toddler swim trunks, and his world feels held together by baby sunscreen.

He stares down at his hands. He’s examining his fingernails, slightly picking at the edges, eyes trained on his lap. The white couch is comfortable. New. The cushions are springy, a fresh smell to it like it just came in.

The woman across from him is fucking patient.

“Mr. Djarin.”

He takes a moment, then forces himself to look up.

Lily Gonzalez is  _ good.  _ She’s recommended from Wright himself as one who specializes in adults with PTSD. Online reviews are enthusiastic and positive. Anything even close to negative isn’t about her practices, as much as the patients simply not feeling like they fit.

_ How do you know if you fit? _

“I want to talk about your test scores.”

The piece of paper is in her lap, on top of the folder that he’s realized is her file on him -- his name is scrawled across the top, in a frustratingly beautiful cursive. His name hasn’t looked that nice before. The paper shifts to cover it, replacing his name with his circled answers.

Five simple questions to upend his entire life.

“You scored five out of five.”

“Guess I don’t pass.”

“... No.” She smiles slightly. “It’s a hard fail, I’m afraid.”

“So, what? I’m traumatized?” He shifts. “Don’t need a test like that to know I’ve seen shit.”

“It doesn’t mean you have post traumatic stress on its own. But it does indicate that you aren’t functioning in the normal sense. It indicates that there  _ is  _ a problem going on.”

Din frowns, shifting.

“You’re having nightmares,” she says, and her pen clicks. “Can you tell me what they’re about?”

He looks at the floor. It’s wooden, smooth and waxed with a fluffy white carpet down. Her living room has a bright color scheme, colorful with both white and pastels. Sunshine comes in from the glass wall. The room feels bright, cheerful -- and he’s the opposite, sitting with dark jeans and a black leather jacket, feeling like a storm of choked feelings surrounds him in a bubble.

“... The Purge,” he finally says.

“The Purge,” she repeats.

“Yeah. What everyone here calls the  _ Mandalorian War.”  _ His hands tighten into fists. “The genocide.”

Lily frowns at him. “Genocide of… the Mandalorians.”

“That’s what happened. The Imps were in control.” His jaw tightens. “They fucked us over years ago. Let us think we had a  _ government.  _ When it was all their puppet strings. As soon as people started fighting it, there were riots. And riots turned into brutality against protestors. And then troopers are opening fire on crowds.  _ Any  _ crowds. Government buildings, concerts, parks.” He scowls. “Ordering you to disperse while they’re fucking shooting at you.”

Lily stares at him, but quickly schools her expression, and she’s scribbling down notes. “How did you fit into that?”

“Jesus,” Din scowls. “I’m not -- I don’t need to pour out my whole story. Just… put me on meds or whatever you’re supposed to do. Then I can go.”

Lily hesitates, then sets her hands in her lap. “Mr. Djarin,” she says. “Why are you here?”

For a moment, Din can only stare at her. “... To get rights to _my_ _kid,”_ he says. “Isn’t that written down in there?”

“It is. But that’s not the true reason.”

“It is. Wright said he won’t move forward with the adoption if I don’t have an evaluation. So I’m here for that.”

“You  _ aren’t  _ here just to be evaluated,” Lily says, leaning forward. “Anyone can have an evaluation. What matters is the results of that and what you do with them. My assessment thus far is that there’s certainly something that needs to be addressed, but moving forward, I want to probe and figure out what the problem really  _ is. _ How deep it goes, how much it truly affects you -- in ways you may not even realize.”

Din frowns.

“If you’re here just to get my professional opinion on your trauma and then walk out -- to not do anything more -- then you’re here for the wrong reasons.” She leans back. “You shouldn’t be in my house just to be told you’re traumatized so you can adopt a child. You’re asking to have full rights as a parent. Complete control over this boy. Who, as I’ve been told, may have suffered his own trauma as well.”

Din’s jaw is tight, shifting.

“You should be here so you can help him.”

“I  _ can _ help him.”

“Not when you won’t acknowledge that you need help, too.” She lets out a soft sigh. “Look, Din. It’s  _ hard  _ to admit that something is wrong. No one wants to believe that they can be affected by this.”

Din watches her.

“I’ve read about you and Caleb from Wright. You’ve been through things together. You have an established relationship and I’d  _ like  _ to see you get rights to him.” She smiles sadly. “But you have a  _ past.  _ An incredibly painful one. You need to help yourself so you can help Caleb. Heal the wounds that haven’t closed so neither of you end up hurt.”

Din tightens his jaw. He fiddles harder with the zipper on his jacket, staring at the floor. A lock of hair falls in his eyes but he doesn’t bother to smooth it back.

“We can start with something easy,” she says with a smile. Din looks at her. “Tell me about your childhood. Your parents, any siblings, pets, your friends -- what it was like growing up.”

Din looks at her. His lips part to speak, but he only sucks in a breath.

Then, he laughs.

“How was therapy?”

“Shit. Thanks for asking.”

“Anytime.”

Din rolls his eyes and pulls off the jacket as he walks into the kitchen. Cara flashes him a cheeky smile, glass of beer in one hand and tablet in her lap. Caleb gets up from his stuffed animals on the floor and lets out a muffled call of “Dada!” around his pacifier. He makes an attempt at running, but falls instead and catches himself with his hands on the floor.

“Got you,” Din says, and he reaches out to heft the boy up into his arms. Caleb giggles and grabs onto his shirt, and Din lets him hang over his shoulder like a potato sack.

“Dadaaaa!”

“Seriously,” Cara says. “How did it go? You didn’t come in and punch a wall, so I presume it was okay.”

Din lets Caleb fall into his arms, cradling the boy before putting him back down. “It was… better than I expected,” he says. Caleb grabs onto his hand, sucking on his pacifier. “She was nice. Very nice. I guess.”

“Was she asking good questions?”

“I think?”

“Well, how do you feel now?”

“I don’t know.”

“... Are you willing to go back?”

“I… don’t know.”

“You know when you look at a person,” Cara says, reclining back in her chair, “and you try to talk to them but you know they’re not really  _ there?  _ Like the lights are on but nobody’s home?”

“Yeah,” Din says.

“That’s what it’s like trying to have a meaningful conversation with you,” she says.

Din rolls his eyes. “She wasn’t judgmental,” he says. “She… at least  _ seemed  _ like she cared about what I was saying. And she wasn’t trying to correct me about what happened in Mandalore, not like the rest of them do. She asked about my childhood.”

“And?”

Din smirks. “She wasn’t exactly ready for that answer.”

“So what did you talk about, pre- or post-orphaning?”

Cara is the only one who could get away with that sort of joke. His parents’ death in front of him is… he’ll admit, yes, a trauma that has stuck with him most of his life. A terrible event that catapulted him into a completely new direction. He doesn’t even make many jokes himself. Everyone would go quiet, anyway.

But comedy equals tragedy plus time. And Cara is… Cara. She’s never malicious towards him, just teasing like an annoying sibling. So he smiles. “Bit of both,” he says. “Should’ve seen the look on her face.”

“I’d have paid.”

They trade a grin.

Therapy isn’t… as bad as Din thinks. He does go back. Reluctantly. Even Lily seems a little surprised when he knocks on the door. “We scheduled,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck, and her surprise melts into a smile.

“We did.”

She lets him talk. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t. The sessions are twice a week -- and he just… keeps going. They schedule the next meeting, and he goes to it. Scribbles it down in the planner Cara got him for Christmas and Lily still seems surprised that he decided to come back.

Sometimes, they talk about his past. His childhood,  _ pre- or post-orphaning.  _ He doesn’t have many memories of his parents. He remembers his dad driving him to baseball practice. He remembers Sunday brunches with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, all his cousins. He remembers playing soccer barefoot in the sandlot down the street, knowing that his mother wanted him home for dinner but the  _ big kids  _ came and said they could  _ play with them,  _ so he stayed until the sun was setting and he’d stumble home, dirty and sore, to grumbling parents but a dinner still warm in the microwave.

“Strong memory,” Lily says.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s just… I remember it.”

“That’s good.”

Other times, they talk about… Caleb, but not in a probing sense. It never feels as though she’s looking for mistakes. But he’ll talk about learning to change diapers in the car, how much to feed him, and how to calm a fussy child. But he knew childcare, he tells her, Mandalorians were like that.

“From practice?”

“Yes.”

“Did you babysit?”

“I had a sister,” he says. And his throat goes dry. They end the session there.

But Lily has a five-year-old who plays with the neighbor’s kids while she has clients, and she can sympathize with all the frustrations of a young child. Sometimes they talk about weather, about travel, and sports. Din doesn’t follow teams but he knows soccer. Knows the insanity of placing bets, of fantasy teams, because the Mandalorians in his covert -- well, his throat goes dry but he tells her anyway. How they’d do draft picks and have nights where they drank and traded and could just have  _ fun  _ with something.

Din had loved those nights. He’s never been a heavy drinker, but nights of being  _ home  _ with his  _ family  _ always felt the best, and they could send the kids to bed and relax.

Lily listens, adds her own personal experience, and lets him talk about what he wants. One day, he brings Caleb along, not by choice. Cara is out and there’s no one to take him. Lily is happy to meet him, and halfway through the session he’s sitting in her lap instead.

_ Little traitor.  _

“He’s very sweet,” she says, when the baby has fallen asleep against her chest. “Very affectionate.”

“He doesn’t know a lot of safe adults,” he says, quiet. “We haven’t… been able to trust.”

She holds Caleb as Din finally tells her a little bit of what really happened. He doesn’t get too into detail -- but he talks about hunting. How he’d taken a bounty where they had lied to his face about it being a child. How he’d handed Caleb over, but quickly realized that he’d made a mistake and stolen him back. The guilt he still feels over making a decision like that--

“But you fixed it,” she says, voice a whisper. “You took him back. You protected him after you realized it.”

“But they still hurt him,” he says. “They’d already done… something. I put him there to start with. I could have run with him and they all would have just assumed I was another hunter that failed to get the quarry. We could have been okay.”

“You didn’t do it out of malice.”

“I still did it.”

“But he’s safe  _ now.  _ He could have been dead in their hands.”

“If I had just…”

“You weren’t his  _ father  _ yet.”

Din clams up, and they end there to try to pry Caleb off Lily. But he thinks about her words for a long time, in the car and at home. Soon, he’s decided that… therapy isn’t such a terrible idea, and it’s nice to have someone other than Cara try to dissuade him from his current thought pattern. He knows, in some form, that he  _ shouldn’t  _ still blame himself for a decision he’s reversed. He knows, when he looks at Caleb laughing and smiling and calling out to him, that he’s become a father to a fatherless boy and that Caleb’s world still exists because of him.

“So, she’s good?” Cara asks, when he comes home from the latest session.

“Yeah,” Din mutters. “... This is going to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


	3. Expansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din meets with Wright again about moving forward. A hunter calls Din about a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

Yes, Lily tells him. He fits the box for post-traumatic stress. Her recommendation is a twelve-week course of therapy designed to tackle his thought patterns and ease his symptoms. “If just the nightmares go away, it would be a miracle,” he mutters.

“We’ll try,” Lily says.

He believes her.

He has that written evaluation in hand when Wright and Karga return. He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous -- he did what he was told he had to, even if it was with hesitation. “There’s nothing else he asked for,” Cara tells him. “You went to therapy, you’re starting a treatment program. He isn’t going to take Caleb.”

“I know,” he mutters, pacing anyway.

“If he does, I just refilled the car with gas. I can distract while you run.”

Din can’t laugh. Upstairs, Caleb wakes from his nap with a wail, and Din sprints upstairs to attend to him. The baby’s whimpers and squirming are usually aggravating to deal with, but now they present a welcome distraction, and he moves on autopilot as he changes a diaper. As he changes the baby, he hears the front door open, hears the usual and casual exchange of greetings. His heart pounds. Caleb begins to calm, staring up at him.

He smooths down the new shirt. “Alright,” he mutters, scooping up both child and the written assessment. Once Caleb is settled against his chest, face buried in his shoulder, Din can bring himself back to the stairs. He begins down and can hear them in the kitchen, talking in light-hearted tones. When he turns the corner, they go quiet, and he pauses too.

“Hello,” Din says.

“Hello,” Wright says back, and the tension feels impossible. “Can we sit?”

“He needs milk first.”

Wright nods. Din hands over Lily’s assessment and they return to the living room where they sat before. He heads to the fridge, getting out the gallon of milk to pour in a bottle and warm up. Caleb is clingy when he’s tired, making it more difficult to prepare the bottle, but it just takes up more concentration and Din is glad for it. “There,” he murmurs, handing the bottle over, and Caleb takes the bottle to start drinking.

They come into the living room and sit down. As Caleb is situated in his lap, Wright is looking over the assessment, and Din dares to think that his expression is… approving. “Twelve-week program,” he says. “You’ll be going through with it?”

Din nods, wrapping his arms around Caleb. “We scheduled,” he says. “Twice a week.”

“Good. That’s very good. Lily does excellent work. How has Caleb been?”

“Fine.” He looks down at the kid. Caleb looks back up at him, eyes big as he drinks the milk, and Din gives him a squeeze. “Just… himself.”

Wright nods and takes his notepad, clicking a pen before he begins scribbling down notes. “We’re on the right path, then. Very good.”

Din bites his lip and looks at Cara. Caleb squirms, but only to stretch out across Din, still happily drinking away. “So,” he says, and clears his throat. “How long…?”

“I’d like to know that you’ve made progress in Lily’s program before we move forward. Her opinion as a professional is what I’d like to go by. I’d also like Caleb to eventually be evaluated by a child psychologist who specializes in his age range to see if there’s any warning signs of trauma.” At Din’s hesitant expression, he stops writing. “He’s gone through things that children shouldn’t. If there’s something wrong, I’d like to catch it now if possible and make sure there are resources available for him as he ages. It’s not a penalty against you.”

Din nods, letting out a breath.

“But this is good.” He sets the evaluation aside. “I can’t put a complete timeline together. Adoption can take a few months or it can take years.” Din sucks in a breath. “But this is also an unorthodox process. You’re trying to adopt a child that you already have an established relationship with, and already have custody, which could streamline things in terms of evaluations. But this is also a child that doesn’t  _ exist  _ in the system.”

Din nods again. He’d looked into it, and there was no identity associated with the child. Caleb finishes his milk, turning his face away, and Din sets the bottle on the table beside them. “Dada,” he mumbles, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Din’s shirt. “Smim.”

“Swim later,” Din mutters, drawing him up in his lap.

“Smim!”

“Shh.”

“The good thing is, we’re moving forward,” Wright says. “My focus now is getting paperwork for Caleb and getting him into the system. I’ll have to come back here for signatures and forms so we can also use those as times for check-ins. Just so I can see that his care and behavior are consistent.”

“Okay,” Din says. The meeting ends there.

As he gets Caleb into his swim trunks, he isn’t sure how much better he feels.

It becomes a routine.

Caleb is a constant light of his own, happy by default, but there are still bad days. Days where he wakes up crying, screaming for Din, and just inconsolable. Where his bad mood is unshakeable and only the right word, right gesture, right moment lightens it by chance alone. When he comes down with a fever, his light is dimmed, he falls quiet, and only whimpers in discomfort.

It isn’t the first time he’s sick, but Din hates it. He hates the quiet. He hates laying on the bed in complete silence, the baby snuggled as close as he can on his chest, hearing nothing but the whistles of his breathing. Din rubs his back in big circles, staring at the ceiling, before eventually looking at the half-drunk bottle of milk.

He hates feeling this powerless.

He hates the nightmares that keep him up. Night after night, and since he’s begun talking to Lily, they’ve increased. “Your mind is beginning to work through the trauma,” she tells him, everything is coming back to the surface. He hates it. He hates feeling locked in by his experiences, hates that it keeps him up so he’s tired during the day and he can’t play with his kid, too exhausted to really be present. The dreams that will wake him up and then Caleb will wake up, too, needing him, and it’s… too much.

“I always go back to that day,” he tells her.

“What day?”

“When it all went to shit.”

“What happened?”

Din goes quiet. “My squad,” he says. “That asset, they sent us… they positioned us to seize an asset on the word of a captive. Wouldn’t authorize the raid without confirmation even though we  _ knew.  _ They found us first.”

_ The horn blares. The windows are shot. The bullets that slam into his backpack rather than his spine. He should’ve been driving. _

“You’re still here,” Lily says.

“I am.”

“You survived.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t the one who deserved to live.”

“By whose standards?”

“They all had families. They all had spouses and kids. I only had my siblings.”

“What happened to them?”

Din pauses. “Fenn was in the seventh division,” he says, voice quiet. “He was my little brother. He… they ambushed his squad just… a few months after he turned eighteen. Two years before Mandalore fell. My sister, she…”

Six years old. When the Empire dropped bombs on their camp and not everyone had made it into the shelter, when Din sprinted for home and found Rika and their parents in the rubble, and she had only been with them a few weeks since--

“I need to go,” he whispers, and Lily nods as their session ends. He tries not to do that -- get too personal all at once and need to end the session. He’s nervous what Lily relays to Wright and what will count against him. On those days, though, he texts Cara that he’s coming back early, and he’ll usually find beer and takeout already retrieved. If it’s late enough, the kid will already be in bed.

“You’re the best,” he tells her.

“I know.”

He doesn’t know how he could be doing this without her.

Din isn’t… sure when he gets the call. 

It comes after he’s arrived home from another session with Lily. When there’s a familiar number without a contact calling and he answers to the sound of Elias Mitchell’s voice, a Southern drawl that is an instant giveaway to who it is. He’s an older hunter, a bit like Ranzar but less… terrible. Din only remembers working with him once. They’d both had targets in the same city, and Elias had given him a helping hand.

There’s something of a debt there. A favor owed.

The favor, Din decides, is taking the call at all.

“I have something you might be interested in.”

“Why the fuck is that the first thing everyone says to me?” Din grumbles.

Elias laughs. He’s a ruthless hunter, but a good natured guy when they’re off the clock. Din remembers loud celebrations after a difficult target was brought in, when he returned from his own hunt to Elias buying everyone a round of shots. He’s… fun. Just not Din’s kind of fun.

“Listen,” he says. “Promise it ain’t anything bad. I’ll give you an address -- you’re in LA? -- you drive out here. Bring that kid, too. You come here, take a look at what it is, give me a simple yes or no.”

Din leans back against the wall. He watches Caleb lie on the couch on his side, sucking on a pacifier as he watches  _ Trolls  _ on low volume. He reaches a hand out and a stuffed cat floats up from the floor, into his arms, and he snuggles down again into his pillow.

“I hope you realize how  _ suspicious  _ this sounds,” he says.

“Yeah… well. Can’t force you to come.”

Din stops, then looks at the floor and sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Is this going to be a waste of time?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“... Fine. Send it.”

He has to wait until Caleb has finished the movie. Din is starting to get  _ concerned  _ that he’s hooked on the stupid film. He’s humming the songs as Din changes him from pajamas to actual clothes.

Pants are…  _ still  _ not allowed on the toddler’s body. Din only halfheartedly tries before giving up and just packing the baby into his carseat. He grabs Cara’s keys, shoots a text about borrowing the car, and then they’re off with the address in the GPS.

“Dada?”

Din bites back a smile. The toddler has yet to fail in asking the question. “Yeah?”

“Whasata?”

“We’re going to meet someone.” They pull out of the driveway and onto the road. Caleb is quiet, curious about staring out the window, two fingers in his mouth as he squirms a bit to turn towards the door. Din gives him a glance in the mirror. It’s a long road from the house to the nearest highway, then starting towards Elias’s place. 

A half hour, the GPS says. Not terrible. Caleb might get bored and fussy, but it isn’t the long hours they’re used to driving. Din turns on the radio, a local station starts to play music. After a few minutes, Caleb begins to sway to it, eyes fixed on the cars going by.

“Dada,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“Caws.”

_ “Cars.” _

“Cars.”

That’s it. Caleb is silent again.

The GPS takes them down a highway. Then off an exit, onto another, and another exit leading through a town square before coming to a neighborhood. They’re still several minutes away, and Din is looking around as the neighborhood fades behind them, coming down long roads. Another turn, and they’re on a dirt road, wheels crunching over dirt. Din frowns. The trees mask what’s ahead, casting dark shade over the car, and Caleb makes soft  _ “Ooo.” _

The trees space out, and they’re coming up to a house.

It’s a simple two story home, surrounded by land, with two trucks parked by the garage. Din pulls up off to the side, wheels grinding against the gravel placed around the immediate house with uneven bumps. He looks up at it, one hand reaching for the glove box where a pistol is stashed. He tugs it open.

Still there.

Just in case.

From the house, dogs are barking like mad, and he can see them in the front window. There’s three of them, pressed together, and one howls. Slowly, Din opens his door and gets out. Then the front door opens, he hears the sharp  _ “Quiet!”  _ and the dogs shut up at once. “Scout. Come. Heel.”

One dog jumps down from the window and walks around, appearing at Elias’s side. Din frowns and leans back against the car, keeping the door open as he watches Elias walk towards him. The dog stays right at his side, head level with his knee -- no leash in sight. He’s sleek, black, his front right paw and back left both patched with white.

“Dada?” Caleb calls from the car. He makes an impatient whimper, and Din can hear him squirm against the belt.

“Hold on, bud,” he mumbles.

“Djarin!” Elias calls. He stops several feet away, and the dog stops as well, a single moment of pause before he sits at Elias’s side. The dog is collared, but there are no further restraints. Din watches, then pushes off the car and starts to walk over.

“What am I here for?” he asks.

“You’re lookin’ at him.”

Din stops, then looks down at the dog. The dog gives him a curious look, but then his attention is shifted, looking around the area with caution. He’s rigid, ears moving with each sound and call of the birds. For a moment, Din is silent. He’s got a face like a pitbull, but he doesn’t look like a purebred at all. Din’s not completely sure. He doesn’t... do dogs.

“A dog,” he says.

“One of  _ my  _ dogs.”

Din frowns. Elias’s reputation in the Guild, when Din had joined, had been  _ the one with the dogs.  _ They weren’t kept as pets, exactly, but were trained to be hunters themselves. They could find the target by following the scent, could chase them down and were trained to bite without mauling. It was… not Scout in front of him. Ranger, maybe, who’d found Din’s target years ago.

A bounty hunting license extended to add legality to those sorts of measures. You could do a lot with that license, as long as you had proof -- ideally, the puck. Old-fashioned hunting dogs to catch targets was an interesting method. But Elias is the only one with the patience to go through that kind of training with one dog, much less multiple.

“How old is he?”

“About two. Little more.”

“He’s young. Why are you getting rid of him? Untrainable?”

“No, he’s rather perfect.” Elias smiles. “Scout, easy.”

Scout noticeably relaxes. He looks up at Din, tongue sticking out as he pants. He looks… do dogs look happy?

“So why…”

“Don’t say shit. But I’m retiring from the Guild.”

Din freezes and stares at him. “Retiring?” he says. “Already?”

Elias smiles. “It’s been a long time. Ranger and Heidi are older, I’m older -- it’s not so much my game anymore. My son is getting married in a few months. The older and slower you get… more likely a target can fuck you over.”

Din shifts weight between his feet. “Dada,” Caleb whimpers again from the car. Din turns and glances into the backseat, and Caleb looks on the way to a tantrum, staring at Din as he keeps grabbing at his feet and fighting the belt. His face is scrunched up with impatience, tears brewing.

“You can take him out,” Elias says. “Scout’s friendly.” The dog’s ears twitch at his name.

Din eyes him for a moment, then turns and steps back to the car. He opens the backseat and Caleb coos before Din takes him out, cradling him on his hip. Caleb leans against him and looks around, head on a swivel to see the skies and trees -- then, as Din walks back over, he turns and sees the dog.

_ “Dada!”  _ he shrieks. Scout moves up into a sitting position, head tilting at the sound, and he watches Caleb. Caleb grabs at Din’s shirt, eyes  _ huge, _ fists gripping the fabric as he kicks his feet. “Dada -- Dada --  _ whasababfit!” _

“It’s a dog,” Din says.

“D… Do…”

“Dog.”

_ “D… Dog--eee!” _

Scout tilts his head again. Din hesitates, but he takes another step towards the dog and crouches down, putting out his hand in a loose fist. Scout stands and leans forward, rapidly sniffing his hand. Caleb stares at him, looking enchanted as he reaches out, too. Scout stares at him for a moment, then drops into a play position before he’s up again, sniffing at Caleb. He drops again, looking up at him, wagging his tail. He lets out a soft bark.

“Doggie!” Caleb shrieks. “Wuff!” He giggles, pulling on Din’s shirt and kicking his feet. The dog practically dives in to get another sniff of him.

“Scout, sit,” Elias says, and Scout doesn’t have to look up this time, immediately settling into a seated position beside Elias. “He’s a pitador. Traveled with me since he was a pup. He’s accustomed to that life -- he can handles cars and planes just fine.”

“The hell is a pitador?”

“American pitbull terrier, labrador retriever. A bit of shepherd in him, too. Another name is labrabull.”

“That sounds… ridiculous.” Elias just chuckles, and Din stands, even as Caleb  _ strains  _ to reach for the dog. Din just pulls him back up. “Why are you trying to get rid of him?”

Elias only gives a half smile. His hand drops to pet Scout, who looks up and touches his nose to the hunter’s hand. “He’s a good dog,” he says. “His training couldn’t be better. But he’s young. Not ready to retire yet. Ranger and Heidi are slowing down, they’re good to end their careers. Scout isn’t, and I think the  _ quiet  _ lately is starting to drive him a little mad.”

Din looks down at him. Scout looks back. Caleb whimpers and makes another attempt to reach the dog before he slumps against Din’s side, pouting. “So you want me to take him?”

“If you think he might have a place with you,” Elias says. He lets out a sigh. “You’re the first person I thought to call. He’s used to a hunter’s life. And you know some of the types in the Guild -- they’re sadists through and through. I love these dogs. I don’t want to give Scout to someone who won’t have patience for an animal.” He glances at Caleb. “Like patience for a kid?”

Din frowns. “I’m not… hunting right now,” he says. “I don’t know that I’m coming back to it yet. I’m trying to adopt the kid, that’s… been the priority.”

Elias frowns, but he nods in understanding and looks at Caleb. “I think he’d be a good companion to the lifestyle,” he says. “But if you don’t want him, that’s fair.”

“Dada!” Caleb wails, making grasping hands towards Scout. “Doggie -- wan  _ seeeeee--” _

“He seems in love,” Elias says as Din crouches again. Scout leans forward again to sniff him. His nose bumps Caleb’s cheek and he shrieks with laughter.

Din sighs. “I haven’t had a dog,” he says. “It’s… good you’d trust me. But he’s not…”

“Not a fit.” Elias nods. “But… think about it. Give me a call if you change your mind.”

Din gives him a nod. He glances down at Scout, then reaches out and gives him a pet before he gets up and walks back to the car. He opens the back door.

Caleb leans around him, trying to look past. “Nooo,” he whines. “Dada,  _ doggie--” _

“It’s not our dog, bud.” Din settles him into the carseat and buckles him up. Caleb whimpers and squirms, trying to push out of the seat. “Hey. Shh. We’re going home, okay?”

“Dadaaaaa,” he cries, face a mess of snot.

Din smooths his hair back from his face, then turns and closes the door, getting into the front.

Elias gives them a wave as they pull away, and Caleb continues to cry, gasping and hiccuping. “Doggie…”

The baby is a pouting mess the whole drive home, even as they have a late lunch, even when Din gives him a bath and still he’s grumpy when  _ Trolls  _ is put back on. There’s an  _ energy  _ about him, a feeling that comes over Din whenever he’s near the kid, and it’s full of crankiness and discontent.

“What did Elias want?”

Din turns his gaze away from the baby on the couch, instead looking to Cara, and he pulls open the oven to stick the french fries in. “He offered me one of his dogs.”

Cara stops, holding the wine bottle, and tips it up. “One of his  _ dogs?  _ Why would he give one up?”

“He’s retiring.”

“He  _ is?” _

“He told me not to say shit, but you’re… you. Just don’t mention it to Karga.” Din leans against the counter. “He’s got a two-year-old pitbull and labrador mix. Said he’s perfectly trained, just not ready to retire.”

Cara nods. “The dog isn’t here, so I assume…?”

“I said no. For now. It’s… I don’t know.” Din frowns. “I’ve never had a dog. In… Mandalore. There were dogs around. But I never…”

_ He’s lying in the grass, shoulder to shoulder with another soldier on each side of him, aiming down his sights. They all fire another round, rifles popping, his bullets burying in the target. Behind them, the dogs bark and howl in their kennels, hungry to run and chase and maul. _

“Dogs and babies… there’s something about them.” Cara looks towards Caleb, who’s turned to watch them as he drinks his milk. “Did Caleb meet him? How’d he act?”

“Yeah, they met. He’s mad at me that the dog didn’t come with us.” Din looks towards Caleb, too, who makes a loud grumbling before he rolls over and off the couch, getting to his feet. He starts to toddle over. “It was curious about him. Sniffing real close. Didn’t seem like he’d bite, but…”

“Elias’s training is masterful, from what I’ve seen of the dogs,” Cara says. “I don’t think those animals can be trained any better. If there were ever a dog for you to get, I think it’d be that one.”

“But I don’t want a dog.”

Cara shrugs. “You don’t have to, then. But that kid seems to want it.” The mentioned baby walks over, bottle in his mouth, and grabs onto Din’s jeans. “Another wall of protection, when you’re out working.”

Din looks down at Caleb, who looks up at him past his bottle, still drinking as he raises his arm. Din picks him up and Caleb squirms to cuddle against his shoulder. He leans back against the counter, gentle in pressing the knuckles of his fingers into his back. It could be…  _ useful.  _ The dogs could pick up where a skilled hunter can’t. He’s seen them chase targets, bring them down. An animal with that kind of devotion and intelligence…

If he’s good with Caleb.

If he can protect him when Din isn’t there, if Gideon comes back, if someone ever tries to snatch him--

“Maybe,” he mumbles. “That makes it… a bit more tempting.”

“Maybe call Elias tomorrow. See the dog again, interact with him without Caleb--”

_ “Doggie!”  _ Caleb shrieks.

Cara smiles. “See how it fits for you. And if you think he’s a possible fit, maybe you can bring him back here. A little trial run.”

“You’d let a dog stay here?” Din eyes her.

“For a bit.” Cara takes a sip of wine and smiles, shrugging. “Not permanently. If you’re going to keep it,  _ maybe  _ start looking for a place of your own in LA for your little clan of three. But, really -- I can see you with a dog.”

“I thought of myself as a cat person.”

“I think you’re a blend.”

“What would Wright say about it?”

“Oh, who cares. If anything, it should help. Who’s going to take a kid away from their dog?”

“Dada,” Caleb mumbles. He pushes his face into Din’s neck. “Wan doggie.”

“Yeah, well, maybe,” Din mumbles, and he leans his cheek on the baby’s head until the oven beeps and the fries come out, ready to cool alongside the dinosaur chicken nuggets.

Since the moment Caleb has eaten and is put down to sleep, Din is thinking about it. He imagines Scout as part of their unorthodox little family -- long car rides with Caleb in the backseat and a dog in the front, head sticking out the window as they’re flying down highways. Keeping the baby away from dangerous things, keeping him company,  _ a clan of three.  _

Din lies awake, looking at the ceiling, just thinking. Until, eventually, he’s drifting.

_ The air tastes of metal and sweat. _

_ Soldiers crouch behind their cars and trucks, guns based upon the hoods as they shoot at the building’s guards. The guards are firing back, hiding behind their own vehicles, screams coming from both around him and from the radio on his belt. His heart is pounding like his boots against the concrete, like the battering ram against the back door. _

_ Then his squad is forcing their way in, sprinting up the stairs to the fifth floor. He’s weighed down by a full kit, but his body is used to functioning with the weight. His rifle is locked and loaded as he pulls it around, face hidden behind a blue mask, and they step into the hotel hallway until a bullet whizzes past his head. _

_ He lifts his rifle and shoots. A guard drops. He dashes across the hallway, tucking behind an edge in the wall, and looks across. Wesson looks at him, and they nod before stepping out. _

_ Bullets spray. Guards drop. And then they’re running, five of them getting through, finding the door. Voices inside. The ram is readied again, and then they’re forcing in, the broken door flying open. _

_ “Hands up!” _

_ Two more guards are shot before they can lift their guns, and they flood in to surround a man in a suit. “Boys!” he calls desperately, throwing his hands up even as his face is full of uncertain fear. “... This is  _ ridiculous.”

_ Wesson straightens, setting his rifle at his back before grabbing the man by the shoulders and slamming him against the wall. “What’s ridiculous is being a fuckin’ sellout,” he snarls. “Djarin, cuff ‘im.” _

_Din’s moving forward, taking a ziptie off his belt, looping it around the man’s wrists. “Compliments of the true Mandalore,”_ _he growls, snapping it tight. The politician hisses as it bites into his skin._

_ “You  _ terrorists--”

_ In the distance, dogs are barking. _

_ The scenery changes, and he’s lost his uniform. His jacket was given away, leaving him freezing, but the little boy had looked too cold and he had to change into the protective equipment anyway. Dried blood still cakes the side of his face, frightening the children who look at him, but when he’s on his knees to treat their cuts and scrapes, he can earn smiles. He’s not as scary as those walking around with the full hazmat suits, and he finds himself comforting the children of those who were hit with the most radiation. _

_ His pack of weaponry and tech has been replaced with a backpack full of medical supplies. He tries to keep himself calm, keep himself useful, cleaning dirt and soot off small hands, patching up cuts, bringing them the new clothes while he takes theirs to be burned. “It’s okay,” he tells them. “It will all be okay.” _

_ Nothing is okay. _

_ “The light was pretty,” a little girl tells him, smiling. “The house shook but it was so pretty.” _

_ Day after day, they get a little worse and a little worse, and Din knows why it’s called the dead children’s tent. _

_ He’s driving, bullets flying, a familiar fucking thing. The baby is tucked against his shoulder, swaddled tight and still sedated. Din just wills him to wake up, to move, to cry, not another dead child in his arms, and then he starts to-- _

He’s woken by soft cries, jerking up into a sitting position, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. It takes a moment to realize where he is, taking gulping breaths before realizing where he is. In his bedroom at Cara’s. Not Keldabe. Not the the tent city. Not running for his and a baby’s life.

The baby is awake in his crib, squirming, and Din looks over. Caleb lets out another whimper as he rolls onto his belly and looks through the bars at Din. “Dada,” he begs. “Dada…”

Din looks towards the clock. It’s one AM. Frowning to himself, he gets up and walks over to the crib, reaching in to scoop up the child.

“I’m here.”

The baby hides in his chest and Din lays back down, letting Caleb squirm and settle on top of him. He’s a warm weight, comforting, and he snuggles down with his head at Din’s collarbone. Din takes deep breaths, a hand stroking his back, and Caleb’s whimpers are soft and fading.

After a few minutes, they lie in silence. Din continues to stroke him, a calming and repetitive motion, turning his head to watch the clock. Minutes go by, switching again and again on the clock, until its one-thirty and then two AM. Caleb is dozing on his chest, eyes shut, and Din lets his hand rest on the baby instead.

He reaches a hand out to the nightstand and picks up his phone off the charger. The screen is bright and he squints. He searches Lily’s number, finding their last conversation about an appointment. But he pauses. Instead, he pulls up Elias’s number, and with one hand, types up a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


	4. Furry Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A companion joins the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this time.
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

Elias responds before six AM, and Din is up to meet him around 7:30. Caleb starts to wake as Din is getting dressed, but he’s sleepy and clingy, mumbling nonsense babble as he wraps his arms around Din’s neck. Just as Din steps out of their room, Cara is returning to hers with a cup of coffee.

“I’m going to see Elias,” he says, careful to keep the word  _ dog  _ out of his mouth. “Can you be a distraction?”

Cara stops and looks at him with a smile, then nods. “Put him in my bed. Are you coming back with it?”

“... Maybe.”

Caleb is grumpy about letting go of Din, but he’s tired, and Cara is enough of a distraction as he cuddles into her side. Din slips out into the cool morning air, keys in hand, and his phone still has Elias’s address in his recent history. Driving alone has become strange. No one asks where they’re going. The seat is empty.

The baby’s with Cara, probably going to watch some mind-numbing cartoons. But the silence is odd, so he cranks up the radio for whatever’s on.

When he pulls up to Elias’s house, he’s greeted again with mad barking -- but only from two dogs in the window before they quiet down. Instead, Elias stands by the front door with Scout lying down beside him, and the dog is chewing away at a rope toy. Then he’s given a command as Din parks, and he’s forgotten the toy, standing at attention.

Din gets out. The gravel crunches beneath his feet and he shuts the door with a  _ thump.  _ He shifts his mask into place, stance fixed.

“Change your mind?” Elias calls, walking over. Scout follows right at his side. When he stops a few feet away, Scout sits, watching Din with alert eyes.

“Not exactly,” Din says. “More… reconsidering.”

“Brought the kid?”

“He’s home. It’ll just be breaking his heart if I don’t take Scout.”

Elias smiles. “I’ve got all his information in an envelope and his things fit in a box,” he says. “Say the word, Djarin.”

Din hesitates. “I just… want to look at him some more.”

“Go ahead.”

He crouches down. “Scout,” he attempts to call.

Scout’s attention jerks to him, ears perked. He  _ looks  _ sharp, if a dog can look like that. His complete focus is on Din, though he doesn’t move.

“Come.”

Scout rises to stand and walks over to him. He stops just in front of Din, and Din holds the back of his hand up, pulling down his mask so his full face can be seen. Scout moves in to sniff, quick and thorough as he leans to sniff every inch of Din’s exposed skin.

“Sit,” Din says, before the dog’s attention can be turned onto his face.

He does.

“Down.”

Scout lies down on the gravel, appearing unbothered by any poking from the rocks. He looks up at Din, attention still focused. There’s a bark and whine from inside the house, barely audible, and Scout’s ears swivel towards it. But his eyes don’t leave Din’s face. “Good boy,” he murmurs, reaching out to scratch his ears. Scout’s tail starts to wag. He looks up at Elias, “What else have you taught him?”

Elias smiles. “Scout,” he calls, his voice firm, and in an instant Scout is up and in front of him, Din forgotten as his tail continues. “Speak.”

Scout barks.

“Good boy.” Elias reaches into his pocket and hands him a small treat. Scout scarfs it down. “Sit. Salute.”

Scout sits and raises his right paw in the air, almost like a real salute. After a few seconds, he puts it down. Elias grins and gives him another treat. He takes another and holds his fist out. “Touch.” Scout shuffles to adjust himself before he jumps up onto his hind legs, touching his nose to Elias’s hand. “... Good boy.” He gets another treat.

“Cute,” Din mumbles. “Nice bag of tricks.”

“But you want to see what he can  _ do,”  _ Elias says.

Din looks up, then nods.

Elias has an entire training course behind the house, and the space looks like a K-9 agility competition from… Westminster, or whatever those dog shows are. Din waits with Scout while Elias disappears into the house for a minute. He returns with a dark grey vest that fits snug onto the dog. “It’s a working vest,” Elias explains. “When it’s on, he knows he’s on the job. When it’s off, he can relax.” Din watches as the vest is clasped on.

Elias takes Scout through the course. With calls and encouragement, he doesn’t need a leash, able to follow the verbal commands and dart through the course. He’s _fast,_ even for what Din would expect from a dog. And at the end, Elias is out of breath and the dog is panting, but sitting, looking around.

Elias straightens with a smile. Din runs a thumb over the corner of his mouth before shoving his hands into his pockets. “He’s impressive. He attacks?”

The hunter nods, then grins, looking a little too delighted by Din’s interest. “Want to know what a target goes through?”

Before he knows it, Din has shed his own jacket to slip on a large, thickly padded “sleeve” over his forearm. “You start running, I’ll yell for you to stop and set him off on you. When he gets close, turn and show the sleeve. He knows to bite that.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Well. He’ll bite what he can get.”

Din sucks in a breath, wondering what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

But he sets himself up and Elias clips a leash to Scout’s collar, leading him towards the opposite end of the course. He stands with Scout sitting between his feet, a firm grip on both leash and collar. Din gives him a nod, Elias nods back, and then starts yelling.

“Bounty Hunters Guild! Stop!”

It echoes off the house. In an instant, Scout launches forward, but he’s held back by the collar. Din turns and sprints as Elias dramatically calls for him to stop, then a sharp “Scout! Takedown!” resounds. He can hear Scout’s panting when he’s released and chasing him. He doesn’t get far before he whips around, backpedaling, shoving his padded arm out as a bar. Scout  _ leaps  _ at him, jaws clamping down on the sleeve, and his weight hits Din to send them to the ground. The dog’s eyes are  _ wild,  _ and Din sucks in a breath.

_ “Agh--” _

The padding helps -- Scout’s strong, and the bite is an ache in his forearm. But a paw lands on his belly, forcing the air out of him, another paw on his shoulder, the others on the ground. Scout snarls and growls, re-biting before he thrashes back and forth. His tail is wagging like mad. Din groans, sucking air back in.

“Good boy! Good boy. Scout, release.”

Scout lets go of the sleeve and gets off Din. Din takes a breath as he sits up. Scout stands beside him, tongue out and tail continuing to wag back and forth like a whip.

“I’m glad you weren’t one of the ones after me,” Din mumbles as Elias walks over.

The man laughs, reaching out to pet Scout. “I had a family thing going on,” he says, “and no. I wouldn’t have sicced a dog on you when you had a baby.”

Din begins to get up and looks at Scout. “... I can see him being useful.”

“He’s a good one.” Elias looks at the dog with fondness, giving him an affectionate ear rub. “But he’s not ready to slow down. If you’re willing to take him, use him, work with him to earn his trust and make a bond -- then you’re the one I want to have him.”

Din looks at Scout. He looks up at his master lovingly, giving him his complete attention, but there’s a restlessness too, almost a joy from taking Din down even if it was just play. He’s eagerly awaiting another command. Din watches him, then takes the sleeve off.

“... I’ll take him with me,” he says. “Give it a few days. See how he does with the kid.”

Elias smiles.

Scout has more things to bring than Din anticipates. There’s a food dish, water bowl, a leather leash with a looped handle and a retractable one. He’s wearing his collar but the vest comes off for now, a harness as well for walks. Several toys he particularly likes, a brush, bottles of shampoo and conditioner for baths. A bag of food, a clicker, treats he uses for training. A crate is loaded into the back with a bed inside. When everything is in, Elias hands him an envelope.

“He’s got his shots, obedience school hours, the things you might need to show. He’s chipped. I wrote a list of the commands he knows. If you know you want to keep him, let me know. Start on the ownership transfer.”

Din looks at him, then nods. Scout still stands at Elias’s side, watching the loading with an interested expression. Elias crouches down and gives him an affectionate rub.

“Good boy,” he murmurs. Scout gives him a lick. “... Good. You behave for Djarin, alright? Protect that boy of his.” He gives him some more scratches, then a pat. “You will.”

Din watches, then steps back and opens the back door. “Scout,” he calls. “Here.”

Scout looks at him, then walks over and hops into the car. In an instant, he’s sniffing everywhere, taking in the smells of the car. He’s quick to find the Cheerios dropped beneath the seat -- Din steps up and brushes them away. “... Good boy.” Scout loses interest in the Cheerios and instead discovers the carseat, nearly shoving his face into it to sniff all over. Din looks at him, then closes the door.

Elias gives him a sad smile. It’s bittersweet. “You’ll take care of him.”

“You have my word,” Din says.

“I trust it.” Elias nods, then steps back. “Let me know how it goes.”

Din nods back. As Elias starts to walk back to the house, Din gets into the front and turns the car on. Scout is still sniffing, but as the engine turns on, he lies down. He watches Din, ears perked, and Din looks back at him before he pulls out.

Back down the road. Scout moves towards the door, looking out the window. Din can see both the pitbull and labrador in him -- maybe there’s more he can’t identify. A beautiful creature, even to someone who doesn’t  _ get  _ dogs. Din drives down the path, then stops at the turn onto a paved road. He turns his blinkers on, waiting for a car to pass by, an almost excited feeling burrowing into him.

He glances in the mirror. Scout is watching the road. Din watches, then sighs. “Scout.”

The dog looks over.

“Come.” He pats the passenger seat.

Scout climbs through, on top of the center console, then into the seat. He sits there, tongue out and panting, and he looks around as they pull forward and onto the road. He’s calm, quiet, well adjusted to the car. 

Soon, they come to a red light to get onto the highway. Din grabs his phone and starts a call to Cara. Then he looks towards Scout and reaches a hand out, giving him scratches behind the ears. Scout gives his jacket sleeve a sniff, then licks his hand.

“He’s  _ vibrating,”  _ Cara says with a laugh.

Din smiles as he gets out of the car, shutting the door. Cara stands by the front door of the house, Caleb in her arms, and he’s squirmy as he’s held tight. Din walks around to the passenger seat, and Scout is staring through the glass at the two. He makes a soft  _ bark. _

“Cawe!” Caleb kicks his feet, trying to turn his head to look. “Wan… wan  _ supise, supise--” _

“Just a second longer, Bean.”

Din opens the doors. “Come,” he murmurs. “Quiet.” Scout hops down from the car, his tags clicking together, and Din closes the door. He starts to walk over and Scout follows right at his side. Finally they stand opposite Cara and Caleb, and Scout sits.

“Scout, easy,” he says, as Cara lets Caleb turn.

The boy’s eyes widen.  _ “DOGGIE!”  _ he shrieks, immediately squirming with excitement, and Cara puts him down. He takes off towards the dog, waddling as fast as he can, while Scout launches forward as well. “D -- Doggie--”

“Don’t hurt hi--”

Scout’s paws skid against the concrete and they bump together. Caleb falls back on his bottom, but doesn’t cry, instead letting out an  _ “oof”  _ and then giggling as Scout starts in on licking his face. He laughs, eyes squeezed shut, hands reaching out to grasp at Scout. Scout sniffs his hands, then all over him, at his neck and his belly and bare feet, circling him to sniff where he can. Caleb laughs all the way, absolutely delighted.

“Dada!” he cries. “Doggie!”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s the doggie.” Din walks over and crouches down beside them. “Scout, sit.”

Scout looks at him, then drops into a seated position. Cara walks over, arms crossed.

“Scou… Scou… Sca…” Caleb tries.

_ “Scout,”  _ Din says. The dog looks at him.  _ “Sc-out.” _

“Scoot!”

“No--”

“Scoot! Scoot!” Caleb reaches hands towards the dog. “Scoot!”

Scout remains seated, but licks his hands. Din sighs and looks up at Cara. “That’s not…”

“No, but it’s cute,” Cara says with a grin. “Shut up.”

Soon, Scout has grown satisfied with how the baby smells and Din picks Caleb up to carry inside. Cara opens the door and Scout comes into the house. He immediately begins to sniff, racing this way and that to cover everything, a dog on a mission to discover his new environment.

“I left some doors shut,” Cara says. “Wherever he can be, it’s open.”

“Thanks,” Din mumbles. The baby is toddling after the dog, calling out  _ Scoot, Scoot  _ though the dog cares more to explore. With Cara to keep an eye out, he heads back to the car to start unloading the stuff.

In less than a half hour, Scout is moved in. The crate is placed down in the kitchen, the food and water bowls set nearby and filled. The two leashes are put on the table by the door, grooming things put beneath a sink in the bathroom. The dog has made his way into the backyard and was inspecting the chairs before moving on to the pool gate.

Din watches from the doorway. Cara stands just behind him. “Pitador, you said?” she says. “He’s beautiful.”

“He is,” Din says. Scout is moving about the yard to discover all of it, while the baby has been distracted by some toys left out by the pool. Din keeps an eye on both; the pool gate is closed and Scout does not seem interested in digging. Eventually, Scout makes his way back to Caleb and circles him before sitting in front, leaning in to lick his face.

“Think you can get me a puck?” he asks.

Cara looks over at him with playful suspicion. “A  _ puck?  _ Are you back in the game?”

“Not… quite.” Din watches the dog. Caleb is giggling, hands grasping at Scout’s ears. “Scout’s a hunter. I want to take him out for something. Not now, just… soon.” He glances at Cara. “Something easy. Not my usual.”

Cara nods. “Something we’d give to a new guy. Sure.”

Din turns and looks at the two again. Caleb has sat down, showing Scout his toy, and the dog is sniffing all over that, too. Din crosses his arms. 

“Are you keeping him?”

“I don’t know.” Din shifts. “I told Elias I’d take him for a few days. See how it works out.”

Cara lets out a chuckle. “Careful, Daddy,” she says. She points towards the dog and baby. “Those two might be bonding for life.”

She walks back into the house, footsteps receding. Din looks back at her, then back to the two by the pool, and starts to wonder what he’s started here.

Once Scout seems to have a good understanding of the property, he’s calm and simply curious. He comes to Din to receive pets, but quickly has decided that following the baby around is more interesting. As the day passes, Din grabs a bone toy and comes into the backyard, Caleb on his hip and Scout following. “Scout,” he says, sitting on a lounge chair with the baby on his knee. The dog’s ears perk. “Fetch.”

He tosses the bone across the yard. Scout tears off after it, a fast streak before he’s grabbing it up in his jaws. He turns out and starts coming back at a light jog.

“Scoot!” Caleb cries. “Sc-Scoo --  _ fish!” _

Scout comes over and places the bone at Din’s feet before backing away. His tail is wagging and he’s lowered himself to the ground, tongue out. Din reaches down and picks it up before tossing it again. “Fetch.”

_ “Fish!” _

Scout runs and retrieves it again, coming back over. This time, rather than dropping it, he circles around and lies down to start chewing.

“Scout.”

The dog stops and looks over.

Then, the bone lifts up and away from his paws.

Both Din and Scout stare as the baby holds his hand out, giggling, and the bone floats over. Scout jumps up and tries to catch it. Instead, Caleb  _ launches  _ it across the yard, and Scout turns on a dime to sprint after it. “Fish!” he shrieks again, giggling.

Scout brings it back. Caleb laughs. He throws it again, and again, and Din doesn’t have to touch anything. He balances the baby on his knee, watching it all, and when Caleb grows tired of it Scout lies down beside them with one paw on Din’s shoe, gnawing on the bone.

The sun is setting, and the kid is sleepy.

Din puts him to bed after the yawns start. Scout follows up into the bedroom. He lies down to watch as Din lays on the bed with Caleb on his chest until he’s asleep, then the careful transfer of sleeping baby to crib. Scout gives the crib a sniff, then sticks his nose between the bars, trying to sniff more at the baby. He makes a tiny  _ woof. _

Din sits on the bed, reaching out to stroke him. “Good boy,” he murmurs. “He’s safe. Good boy.”

Scout looks at him, panting, then lies down and licks his mouth before settling on the floor. Din watches him. “You’re not sleeping there,” he says. “You’ve got a crate.”

The dog looks up.

But he  _ does  _ go in his crate quietly. Din may or may not slip him a treat when he curls up in his bed, and then the door is shut and the slide bolts locked. Scout shuffles forward on his belly to press his nose through the bars, though he isn’t sad about the crate. More… accepting.

Din still frowns to himself as he gets up and walks to bed.

_ No one likes a cage. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a:  
> Cyar'ika - darling/sweetheart
> 
> The [Discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


End file.
